Fiction: The Secrets

Brief BioAmong the books the author has published three books of short stories are in Bengali and two are in English. Though his stories have been published in many distinguished magazines, translated and anthologised in Indo-Australian Anthology, Book of Indian Short Stories in German language and other anthologies, he once edited a short story magazine and one of his stories was prized, he doesn’t often write stories.Written over a period of nearly nine years, there are 13 short stories in this volume covering different genres and topics like social including ethnic and ethical, eerie and a story with animals among the subjects. They have different hues sometimes with branches spreading to other countries as the writer is an ever traveller, interested in human stories across the Nations. Different as they are, each story draws reader’s attention towards something new, often piquant.

I followed them quite closely to eaves-drop
their conversation. Of the two ladies the one who suddenly seemed to be known
to me, was walking fast though not running. Her companion too moved in the same
pace, rhythmically. Both of them wearing white vest and white short were talking
constantly in some sort of Chinese or near-to-it dialogue interspersed by
English. My effort to overhear them was near defeated.

Singapore
Strait is a perfect cosmopolitan city full of foreign nationals. Among the
citizens large numbers are of Chinese origin, some are former Malayans and Indians,
mostly Tamils. Tribal people too are there.

After
a while they became aware of my presence behind them. Once she stopped
pretending to pick up something from the ground. As I came closer she turned to
look at me. Though brighter, her complexion almost remained the same; white
tinged with yellow-golden hue. Her eyes were of the same size, round but not
too big; eyebrows bushy, half covering her small forehead. Her nose matched her
face. Certainly she was a beauty, brighter with puff of hairs round her ears,
fluff of smallest hairs on her cheeks which could be seen with the microscopic
eyes only and it flashed back my youth revoking kind of infatuation as I had
for her for a short while. Memory induced recognition gave me happiness. I had
no doubt that she was Sony Dasgupta. Her glance did not recognize me apparently
though there was a slight change in her appearance with slight broadening of
the aperture of her eyes accompanied by a kind of apperception but that
momentary recognition soon faded into a frown. It gave me more joy confirming
her presence.

They resumed talking, walking at slower speed. It seemed that she talked
something about me without disclosing my identity. I too became alert and
slowed down my speed to make the distance between us longer. They stopped once
again at a turning point and looked back at me to announce that they were quite
aware of my following them.

One
can find large numbers of walkers and runners alongside the Singapore River or
Quay De River as in other sites like Mac Ritchi reservoir and parks. There are
tracks along some roads close to the sidewalks for cyclists, runners and
walkers. It seems to be a city of walkers. Amid a culture of walks my walking
after them could not be singled out as following them, not necessarily! I
argued to myself.

It
happened after two months of my temporary settlement in Singapore on a
temporary assignment for about a year to explore the market in Singapore and
nearby areas for the products manufactured by our company. I had picked up the
habit of walking with the other Singaporeans and chose my track along the quay
of the river. I found them not only disliking my walks with them but sometimes
showing a sense of botheration to give me company even from a distance. With
recently acquired knowledge of the strict laws in that country about dealing
with women, I changed my venue and time.

Being
a new comer to the metropolis I tried to enjoy my walks in different areas
including Ang Mo Kio in the north, travelling by MRT (metro railways) or car. I
already had some people known to me who loved to walk with me. Once in the
afternoon as I was walking I found Sony with her friend but discovering me with
my companions they left abruptly. I found her driving out of the park.

On
holidays I chose sometimes distant areas to visit like Canning Park which has a
good height, the elevation being covered either by hilly tracks designed for
walks or wide stairs to go up by steps, providing further chance for exercise.
Behind such walks I always had a secret idea of meeting her by chance in a
situation where we could talk one to one. Sometimes I had to move out of
Singapore on business, sometimes visited some offices but nowhere could I find
her. As the time for my stay was getting reduced, my company regularly
enquiring about further prospects, I became suspicious about finding her at
all, to the point of almost disbelief to what I had seen before, for after all
she was taken to be dead or lost forever in her family circle and neighborhoods.
Though I wished to clear myself of all burden of her memory I could not brush
her aside entirely once I saw her. Something remotely lurked inside me telling about
her presence in the city.

Towards the end of my assignment I and my recently joined colleague who
was deputed to help me from the local business circle, was relaxing in a small
round table in Celebes Café on the third floor of the busy Wheelock Place with
two cups of steaming cappuccino between us. As it happens in lazy moments, my eyes
were straying in tables surrounding us in the big hall. Suddenly they fell on
the profile of Sony talking jovially with her friends sitting in one of the
chairs surrounding a big round table located not far from us. My eyes were
riveted to her. At this sudden turning of my attention my friend, becoming
curious tried to follow my direction but couldn’t be sure. I tried to keep his
curiosity at bay lending a causal smile only, telling him something in passing.

After
some time, her gaze falling on me she moved her chair to an angle showing her
back to us while talking and laughing in the same way. Involuntarily I stood on
my feet and addressed her, “Hello Sony, how are you?” She ignored but was alert.

I
moved a step forward coming to the edge of the table between the two of ours
which was crowded with a gossip monger group who paid no attention to my
addressing her or coming so close to their table. We often come across such
groups in Kolkata Coffee house opposite Presidency College. I again addressed
her, “Hello Sony!”

Slightly
turning her chair she faced me with a somber-cold look without a word. By this she
drew attention of her friends, mostly ladies except two men at their late
youth. In spite of it I moved crossing round the table and asked, “Isn’t it strange
that after such a long time I’ve got a trace of you here! Isn’t it that I
should at least ask about your wellbeing?”

She stood coming closer and looked astounded. The table of gossip
mongers, guessing a case stopped talking. I felt that the whole hall became
silent. We two looked at each other. Gossip mongers agog with curiosity and all
her companions including my friend coming forward stood surrounding us. All eyes
on us, silence prevailed.

After a pause she broke the silence, “Who’re you! I can’t at all place
you anywhere!”

In
the same tune without least nervousness I asked her, first in my mother tongue,
Bengali, and then in English, “Sony, tumi ki tomar atit sob bhule gachho? Forgotten
your birth place Kolkata, family and friends? Don’t you at least remember
them?”

The
audience looked astonished. All they could guess was the name, Kolkata, as the
Chief Minister from that place had recently visited Singapore and making some
noise left some waves on its shore. Sony
listened carefully and then replied, “Oh, I guess now why you tried to follow
me in parks. I understand nothing of what you say, nor remember you in any way.
Please make it clear, what’s your motive?”

As
all her companions looked askance at her as she continued in Mandarin, I
guessed forcefully telling something against me, making all her friends
directing their look at me. Half bewildered, my companion came a step further
towards us and addressed them in Malay or may be in some local dialect mixed
with English, telling about my background, that I was quite a well known
gentleman from Kolkata and that whatever I said was genuine to my feeling, in
well meaning words directed towards Sony, that I believed that I had known her
for many years in India.

At
this one of the ladies present said, “Ami Tan is a native of Singapore and as
far as I know she hasn’t ever visited India.” Among the two gentlemen present,
one from India supported her telling that, surely it’s a fact that Ami never
have gone to India. At this my friend said to all those present that it was a
clear case of mistaken identity as the person herself starkly denies the fact
of her being recognized. He apologized
on my behalf telling that the matter should not be dragged further promising
that I should never again repeat it.

Elated, Ami said, “I warn that any more attempt to follow me or making
any effort to approach me would meet with serious consequences as I shall have
to seek the help from the security staff.”

All
agreed to this. Hotel manager, anticipating trouble, sent bills to us and to Ami
Tan party also. While the occupiers of the two large tables were getting ready
to pay their bills my friend quickly proceeded to the counter and paid ours. To
our surprise Ami Tan came forward and taking out her visiting cards from her
pouch gave one each to me and my colleague with a smiling face. She settled the
bill with her card before any other person could approach the counter. My
friend quickly gave her his card.

Her
approaching us on her own and giving us her cards at the last moment surprised
us but cleared all doubts in my friend’s mind about my right stand. But he did
not spare me, telling that Laws in Singapore is heavily drawn in favor of women
and that any lapse would result in serious consequences. “Who knows the design
of her giving us cards at the end?” He concluded.

Following
a clue from me about discovering a source of demand of our products there my
company asked me to intensify my efforts while asking my friend to seek for a hall
somewhere near Raffle’s place, for an office.

Once
while I was out of the Strait, Ami Tan visited our camp office and met my
friend admitting that she was indeed born of a Bengali family in Kolkata. She
also said under vows of his secrecy that she fled from her husband and his family
and somehow came in touch with a very benevolent and well-to-do family of
Singapore who helped her settle here. She confirmed that she was a settled
citizen of Singapore by the efforts of her new parents who adopted her as their
child, a member of a well known family in this City State. She agreed to use
her influence to help us.

She
told my friend that with a growing difference in every aspect of life with her
husband she fled one night from their home and lived hiding somehow without any
information even to her parent’s house.

Seeking
solace in Gods she visited temples. Once she went to Mahabodhi Society Hall in College
Square, Kolkata, and attended a lecture as she was getting drawn towards Lord
Buddha. There she met a middle aged couple on a visit to Nepal and India;
visiting Nalanda, Gaya, Kolkata and other Buddhist centers. Being childless
they liked her, especially because she looked like them, a rare occasion, and
she too equally liked them desperately seeking their support. She began staying
with them. She was then taken to Sri Lanka with many Buddhist relics and
Buddhist temples. And then they moved to Singapore.

She
is a graduate and already mixed up in society circles. She on her own volition
was converted to Buddhism. Then she learnt with diligence Mandarin, Malay and
other tribal languages to be a part of the family and country. In her new
family-friend circle she was known to be someone related to her legal parents,
living in Malaysia. No one had an inkling of her Indian connection. She said
that she was already engaged as one of the Directors in one of the family
businesses and was gradually being introduced to their other business houses. She
gave a further hint that her parents were trying to get her married even in her
late youth to one of their relatives who they wanted to live settled in their
household and own their whole property jointly with her in their absence. When
they so much helped her, she said that she wasn’t averse to their ideas though
she’s not so inclined to marry anyone again. “I wish not to stand against any
of their grand plans when they are so much to me.”

Now
it is my turn to tell her story before any such incidents.

Raghubir
and his wife Pramila Dasgupta with their two daughters, Sony and Ruby, were our
neighbors and my father used to say that Raghubir was distantly related to us.
Sony was their first daughter, some ten years younger to me. She was born quite
early after her parent’s marriage and Ruby was born eight months thereafter. She
had a male child next after some two years. He was the first boy born in the
family. He was sent as a child to Dehradun for studies and then sent to the
States.

When
Sony was in school I was studying in a college. Her look is exactly like a
Japanese or Chinese, a complete Mongoloid face; more accurate than her mother
and sister in that respect. I often visited their house and the sisters too
visited us. My mother loved them. Even during my teens I could sense a
difference of status between the sisters and guessed the cause. Her mother was
quite aloof about Sony. She pined for affection. Her father was owner of a shoe
shop in Gariahat market in Ballygunge whereas we lived in North Calcutta
separated by long north-south division. He used to go out early in the mornings
coming back in the late evenings. None in the neighborhood saw him often even
on holidays. He was not in the habit of socializing. Just after Sony’s
graduation her father managed to get a nicely educated salaried son-in-law,
Nitu Sen of south Calcutta, a thorough dandy, womanizer. Up to 38 years he
preferred not to marry but agreed to marry Sony; firstly on receiving a good
dowry and secondly, perhaps he liked her at the beginning.Before others could have an inkling of it she was married off; a
hush-hush affair.

I
remember to have kissed her when she was eight, nine years old and even at her
ten once or twice. When she was admitted in our college I was out of it. But we
closely embraced each other more often than not and perhaps kissed. Happily she
responded. My appetence to be very intimate with her was sharpened with an edge
of jealousy when she became cynosure of many young hearts but time and tide did
not allow. Though it seemed that we kept something in us in bud-form never we
had any concrete idea about it. When we suddenly knew that in two, three days
time she would be married, I had an unknown shock and she never again met me
after her marriage.

At
the beginning happy Sony used to visit her paternal home with her husband but
soon it became few and far between. After a year we didn’t see them together.
Sony sometimes came and stayed for a few days but that too became rare. After
three years of their marriage rumor was ripe in the circle that Nitu Sen had
married for the second time.

Some
years passed by. No one saw Sony in the vicinity. Her mother was always
disinterested to discuss about her; “Don’t know what the girl is doing. She
never lets us know,” was her pat reply. Gossip was doing a round that she died.
But no one enquired how and when. Nitu Sen’s reply was very vague. “She’s
lost”, he said. She might have become a burden to her husband’s family, as we
heard. Her sister Ruby became a professor and established a tutorial at her
home and joined an NGO, doing some social work. She gained some reputation as
professor and social worker. Raghubir died two years ago. Ruby held the reign
of the household.

Sony was not traced. No record of her death
was found on enquiry. Nitu Sen did not divorce. Her issue was raised and
discussed in private circles. I was in it. After some time aged Nitu with his
new wife left India. As Sony’s affair was not subject to objection or enquiry by
any political party or woman organization or even an NGO it never became
public. None in the local circle dared to challenge Nitu or raise the issue in
Assembly. Many such issues get nipped in the bud in want of proper handling by
any forceful body in the society.

I
came back to India and resumed my duty. I have not divulged my newly acquired
knowledge about her. Neither Sony wanted nor my friend was interested to spread
the news except telling me. There is still a hiatus between me and Sony,
between what I know of her and what she has become or how much water has flown
through her life.

Suddenly unmarried Ruby died of coronary thrombosis. Her mother’s
physical and mental health deteriorated rapidly. Her only son, Sopan arrived in
India alone within ten days of Ruby’s passing away. He said that his wife
wasn’t willing to come. They completed the funeral rites. Even in her
bereavement Pramila was happy that her son was back after long.

We found the mother and son settled in the
house after proper cleaning, some quick repairs and repainting. Sopan didn’t
mix up with anyone. While at home he received unknown persons and mostly moved
out in a hired car.

On a
morning after another ten days Pramila came to our house and began crying restlessly.
Effort to console her was of no effect. When I came back she seemed to have temporarily
restored to herself. All she said was that Sopan planned to take her to America
to live with him and his wife. He said that he had no child. On his strict
advice she did not discuss this plan with anybody. Yesterday evening he took
her to Airport at Dumdum and after entering the A.C lounge with her asked her
to sit in a comfortable place chosen by him while he queued up with papers in
hand and other wheeled boxes which contained her dresses and their belongings.
While waiting she slept and when woke up saw none in that queue. Two hours had
passed. When she asked about her son they told her that the queue would form
again when further departure would be announced. Worried, she met some airport
officers and explained her position in Mother Tongue. Searching their records they
noticed that her son alone boarded an Air India plane for Quebec which began
its journey some half hour ago. She was told that no other name was connected
with his in journey tickets. Sopan Sen alone left India with American Passport
and Canadian Visa. The area she was sitting was visitor’s area anyone could enter
with visiting pass. They helped her wait for the night. In the morning she came
out of the airport after a long walk and boarded a bus. She said that her house
was sold as Sopan planned to take her with him forever. She signed all the
papers in the Registration office. Sopan took the cheque. In two days time they
planned to leave for US.

On
enquiry we knew that the bank account opened by her son jointly with her was
closed. In it the sale proceeds of the house was deposited which was much less
than the market price. The house we found locked. All her near and distant
relatives were sounded but none agreed to take her charge at her age with failing
health condition. One of her maternal cousins agreed to arrange for a bed for
her in a destitute home. She had been with us for three days, crying from time
to time. She could not say how her relationship with her son had been or how he
spent his days in US. “He talked very less”, we heard her say.

Searching
her vanity bag and a leather case her son gifted her we found some items she
could not recognize as her own. We found a thin folio cover with a sheet nicely
typed in script fonts in it. She had never seen it. It was a strange paper
without a name or signature; addressed to none:

I have considered my status on earth: A definite
beginning and end but without any distinct past, without future. I accept the
Indian idea that one comes alone and goes alone; none is a real friend none is relative.
After death all ends. Speculation about after death status is futile. Instead
of meeting with utter frustration at this I have decided to live life to the
full without any responsibility or remorse. I settled in America and now live in
Canada. I lived with a Kashmiri and now planning to live with one from Honolulu;
a Hawaiian. I lived with others too. I may live with any being without any obligation
of any relationship. My biological parents have a biological link with my birth
and nothing else. I live with whatever I generate without sharing, planning to leave
what remains which I never think as mine. None is responsible for my acts. I am
alone and on my death everything ends about me.

Sony’s card in hand; I rang her up. She took
it to be a matter of course but said in a huff that she expected long back a call
from the one who was once most affectionate to her. It was the cause for her to
admit my cognizance of her in spite of all she promised to deny her past. Her
purpose of visiting my office was that he would convey the news to me. I felt
sorry but said that it was under compelling circumstances that I left Singapore
as I was summoned by my company immediately on my resuming usual duty there
after my visit to some islands.

“As you know, this company is extremely
conscious of its capacity to utilize someone to fulfill its purpose and then call
back even when he’s at his best. After coming back I felt shy, cringing or
affected, I can’t explain but now the cause of my contact is serious.”

“Serious!”

I then explained what had happened in her
family, that her mother has been crying helplessly, knowing more at her age
that she has become a destitute. She heard me patiently and said, “I almost never
knew the one you are calling my brother. He’s none to us. And My mother!”

She then implored my visiting her for she
had a storehouse of subjects to discuss with me as her best well wisher and
elder brother, most affectionate. I knew that my company would not permit me to
go there now. But I agreed. To this she said that I needn’t hesitate to accept
her hospitality at least for a week and then we shall see for more. Without any
more dallying about it I booked my air tickets to and from Singapore and
informed her. She was glad but expected my stay to be lengthened.

In the evening of the day we reached she
took me to the Singapore River when the Sun was most glorious during its course.
She told me that because her father was a shoe merchant and many of the shoes
in vogue in Calcutta as it was called then, especially in Chinese shoe houses,
were hand made by the Chinese experts. Her father knew many such cobblers. He
was once attracted by one of their girls and had some affairs with her.
Eventually she became pregnant. Her father searched for a similar looking woman
among his community and after thorough searches spending good amounts for
brokerage came in contact with a girl suitable for the purpose. The family of
the bride wasn’t very well off. Her father negotiated that she would accept the
Chinese woman’s child as her own when the child would be born. Giving up hope
of any dowry he paid handsomely to the father of his bride you know as my
mother. I was born after eight months of their marriage. My foster mother was
camouflaged as pregnant, taken to the nursing home with my real mother and was
given the child she brought home secretly. I was accepted as early born child
of my mother. And Ruby was born after another eight months.

“Though Pramila Dasgupta acted well she
strongly resented the fact of having accepted me as her child though born to a
foreigner; usually unacceptable to our society. None else knew it. My actual
mother, daughter of a cobbler, for fear of further troubles was sent back soon
to her mainland.

“I never received a motherly behavior from
my known mother. She always discriminated between her two daughters. Some
relatives guessed. My father knew but for his own weakness he could not take any
strong action against her. He always guarded me and to his satisfaction married
me off to one he thought to be a prosperous young man with education and talent.
My foster mother might have passed on the secret to her daughter and may be, I
now think, to my husband, Nitu Sen.

“Nitu Sen, a very shrewd company executive
began to take me to the parties where his bosses and colleagues, including
prospective clients, used to gather. I learnt party fashion and other
techniques of dealing with them under pressure. I learnt better English and
Hindi but I was considered as a party-lady in my father-in-law’s circle, fond
of fun, frolics and concomitant evils. They considered their son innocent, taking
me there being cajoled by me. My position was lugubrious, both at my own home
and in my father-in-law’s house. Nitu Sen publicly enjoyed his position both at
home and outside. I was the victim. Thus tortured I fled from them after three
years.”

I who
believed to have knowedge all the secrets of her family from her birth admitted
that there are secrets hidden in secrets like darkness covered by darkness.

Back to her home for a night I was
overwhelmed at her position. She promised to receive me any time. I was given
check for a big amount as annual payment for getting her destitute mother
admitted to a luxurious Guesthouse-cum-Old-age-Home. She promised to provide more
anytime as I required. I returned happily but something might be gnawing at
some weak spot in my heart without any consolation of its healing any time.
What is my marital status? I am not willing to divulge that secret to anyone.

Everyone knew it and praised me for giving
her such a grand and unexpected gift. Under vow of secrecy I could not divulge
the name of the donor. I became Pramila’s official caretaker guardian. She was
happy indeed. Some of the well wishers and others with curiosity visited her at
times and all reported witnessing her wellness and happiness. I was feeling
uncomfortable as everyone was thinking that I managed everything. Some in my
close family circle might have felt jealousy.

But frankly, secret things may have their
own force of disclosure. One day I went there and told masima (Pramila
Dasgupta) as I called her,

“Everyone including you knows that I
provide the money needed for your comfortable stay here. But please pay attention to my incredible
story.”

Masima
was in very good terms with me, more than before now. She was in a good mood
too. As I told her the story of her first daughter at Singapore (she knew of my
visit and stay there on official duty) she remained agape for some time. The
incredible thing became credible to her.
We sipped tea silently. Then she came down from her bed and sitting by
my side in the sofa turned to me, face to face. I saw her glistening eyes,
ready to overflow. I thought that was tears of joy, natural! I asked smilingly,
“What’s happened?”

“I was never boisterous, nor rebuked her
loudly or ill-treated her always. But you don’t know how badly I treated that
girl as a mother for reasons utterly secret. My natural love always flowed
towards Ruby and at her death I was most shocked. I never understood Sony well
as I was ever averse to her birth even. None knows how I behaved! Her father is
no more. After a good pause she said, “And she now keeps me so well! Oh God!
How should I behave with her now!”

“You need not for she’ll never come.” I
said.

She began
crying loudly; so loudly that both the manager and owner of the house came
running. Seeing her condition they rang up the Doctor retained for them. He
came, checked her BP, tongue and other conditions and ordered her complete
rest. Switching the T.V in the hall and light in the room off, we came out. I
was advised by the guardians of the house that at her age and condition no
shocking things should have been discussed. They expected me to be well aware
of her condition.

Few days passed by when I was rung up at
midnight to be informed that Pramila Dasgupta suddenly died of heart attack,
unexpectedly.

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